


Sunday Trilogy, Part 3 - Sunday Morning

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-22
Updated: 2003-01-22
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: An examination of one part of Walter Skinner's psyche





	Sunday Trilogy, Part 3 - Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Sunday Trilogy, Part 3 - Sunday Morning

## Sunday Trilogy, Part 3 - Sunday Morning

### by Raven

**DISCLAIMER:**  
The characters within these stories belong to Fox, 1013, CC et al. There is no profit made or intended from these stories, and they should be considered as being for entertainment purposes only. 

FEEDBACK greatly appreciated as long as it's friendly. Life's too short to waste it on flames. Thanks. 

**WARNING:**  
This snippet features a spanking, and it's not erotic! 

More of my stories can be found at the Sinful Shack right here: <http://gaby.slashcity.tv/>

XxXxXxXxX 

Walter's eyes opened gradually. A lifetime of early rising made it almost impossible for him to sleep much past six, and the light coming in from the windows was pale enough to prove that this morning was no exception. But he wasn't looking at the dawn or the clock, or even for his glasses. Instead, he was looking into the face of his lover. 

Mulder was watching him, Walter knew he'd probably been watching for an hour or so, he always did after... 

Skinner lowered his eyes at the rest of the thought, or would have, but Mulder stopped him with the barest touch of a finger under his chin. 

"Stop it, Walter. There's no room for shame in our bed." The words were spoken gently, lovingly, but Mulder was very serious, nonetheless. He held Walter's gaze until the brown depths acknowledged, then gifted him with a soft, sweet kiss. 

Mulder's hand traveled up his arm, caressing his shoulder. They were lying face to face, and weren't really touching each other except for that hand. Walter felt himself mentally leaning into the touch, hungry for it on a basic level. The hand moved to the back of his neck, the pads of Mulder's fingers trailing ever so lightly before the whole hand gave a firm, reassuring squeeze. That hand leisurely followed the column of Skinner's spine, feeling the ridge of muscle on either side, pausing occasionally to trace a scar or idle over a favored spot. Mulder let his hand linger on Skinner's hip for a few moments, then moved down to cup Walter's left butt cheek. 

Skinner gave an aborted flinch, and quickly cut off a sharp hiss of pain, yet Mulder's hand remained where it was. 

"No." The word was whispered, and accompanied by a kiss to his forehead, but again Walter heard the reproof, however mild. 

"Don't hide your pain from me, Walter. No more hiding, not for either of us. The good, the bad, and the ugly, we share it all, remember? " 

"I remember. But it isn't easy." The last bit was said with just a hint of defiance. His reward for honesty was a small chuckle, and Mulder's hand leaving his sore backside to caress his face instead. 

"No, it isn't. But it is worth it. Jesus, Walter, it's worth it." And then Mulder was kissing him, and he felt himself letting go, the way only Mulder could make him let go... 

"Let go, Walter." 

Mulder's voice was loving but firm. Walter hesitated only a moment, before shaking his head. 

Crack! 

The back of the hairbrush left a bright oval print on his rear, and he couldn't suppress a grunt. It wasn't the first spank of the night by any means, nor likely to be the last, despite the fact that his backside was already well-shaded, and beginning to burn. 

Mulder had started out with just his hand, as always. 

He'd taken Walter by the hand, slowly drawing him closer. There were kisses, to his cheeks and forehead, his closed eyes and his mouth, little kisses of love and comfort. There was an embrace, not the seductive hold of a lover or the light touch of a friend, but a nearly parental wrapping of the long arms around him. 

With his head resting on Mulder's shoulder, Walter had listened almost absently to whispered words of intent and purpose, of method and motive, and of result. Skinner himself had said nothing, too torn between the warmth of such intimacy and the chill of apprehension to give more than a slow nod of required consent. 

And then Mulder had seated himself on the side of their bed, and Walter was lying naked, face down across those long thighs. There was an arm across his waist, securing him. His genitals had been placed comfortably and safely out of harm's reach. His own arms were crossed, his head nestled on top of them. His eyes were open, though he wasn't really looking at anything, had simply been waiting patiently. 

He hadn't even blinked at the first few slaps of palm to muscle, had not shown by word or deed that he was aware of them in the least. The next few had resulted in a long, slow release of breath, and the closing of suddenly heavy lids. Two dozen later, Walter's shoulders lowered a fraction, and the last of the tension had left his body. 

There was a pause as Mulder picked up the brush, then the sharp sound of wood impacting flesh. And it had begun in earnest. Mulder was almost regretfully demanding, Walter was not yet capable of giving in to the demands, and so the brush fell again. And again. And again. 

Crack! 

The brush had fallen some thirty-two times by Mulder's careful count, but his voice held only calm insistence as he demanded again. 

"Say it, Walter." 

The man over his knees had given a deep groan as his abused bottom took another hit, and his body began to tremble. Nothing more than a tiny shiver at first, it was now an intensive shuddering, as though he'd been frozen before, and only just thawed out enough to react to how cold he'd been. 

It was what Mulder had been waiting for, and now he bit his bottom lip, silently pleading with his beloved to say the words that would let him stop. Skinner's rear was the color of a bruised cherry, the junction of cheek and thigh even darker. He didn't want to spank him anymore, never wanted to spank him again. He waited a moment more, then raised the brush even higher. He wouldn't ask twice. 

"It hurts." 

It was just two simple words, but the levels of meaning were almost endless. On the surface it simply meant he was in physical pain, but it also meant that he was suffering, meant that Mulder had hurt him, meant that he was alive and aware and able to feel pain. He could admit that he was vulnerable, that he wasn't impervious, that he was human and had needs. He could be, for the first time in his life, a little bit less. 

The words sounded as if they had been pulled painfully from a too tight throat, but Walter had said them clearly and distinctly. Mulder immediately threw aside the brush. He carefully helped Skinner up, easing the now crying man to lie in his arms, soothing and comforting with everything in him, but doing nothing to stop the tears. 

Walter cried for a long time, and he cried about many things. He held on tightly to the man holding him so closely, and he cried. And with every tear, he was baptizing Fox Mulder in the name of love and hope, baptizing himself in the name of redemption and gratitude. 

**THE END OF PART 3.**   
  


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